"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet
inwardly we are being renewed day by day!" 2 Corinthians 4:16. Paul has a
cheering thought about the undecaying inner life. The outward man, he says,
always decays—but the inner man is renewed day by day. This teaching
is full of comfort for those who are advancing in years. The problem of
Christian old age—is to keep the heart young and full of all youth's
joy, however feeble and broken the body may become. We need to be most
watchful lest we allow our life to lose its zest and deteriorate in its
quality, when old age begins to creep in. Hopes of achievement appear to be
ended for us—our work is almost done, we think. Sometimes people, as they
grow old, become less sweet, less beautiful in spirit. Troubles, disasters,
and misfortunes have made the days hard and painful for them. Perhaps health
is broken, and suffering is added to the other elements which make
old age unhappy.

Renan, in one of his books, recalls an old legend of
buried city on the coast of Brittany. With its homes, public buildings,
churches and thronged streets—it sank instantly into the sea. The legend
says that the city's life goes on as before, down beneath the waves. The
fishermen, when in calm weather they row over the place, think they
sometimes can see the gleaming tips of the church spires deep in the water,
and fancy they can hear the chiming of the bells in the old belfries and
even the murmur of the city's noises.

There are men who in their old age seem to have an
experience like this. Their life of youthful hopes, dreams, successes, loves
and joys, has been sunk out of sight, submerged in misfortunes and
adversities, and has vanished altogether. Nothing remains of it all but a
memory. In their discouragement they often think sadly of their past,
and seem to hear the echoes of the old songs of hope and joy, and to catch
visions of the old beauty and splendor. But that is all. Nothing real is
left. Their spirits have grown hopeless and bitter. Guthrie, as he grew
feeble, spoke of his bald head, his trembling steps, his dullness of
hearing, his dimness of eye.

But this is not worthy living, for those who are
immortal, who were born to be children of God. The hard things are not meant
to mar our life—they are meant to make us only the braver, the worthier, and
the nobler. It is not meant that the infirmities of old age shall
break through into our inner life; that should grow all the more
beautiful—the more the outer life is broken. The shattering of the old
mortal tent, should reveal more and more of the glory of the divine life
which dwells within.

Do you ever think, you who are growing old, that old age
ought really to be the very best of life? We are too apt to settle down to
the feeling, that with our infirmities, we cannot any longer live
beautifully, worthily, usefully, or actively. But this is not the true way
to think of old age. We should reach our best then in every way.

Old age should be the best—the very best, of all life! It
should be the most beautiful, with the flaws mended, the faults
cured, the mistakes corrected, the lessons learned. Youth
is full of immaturity. Midlife is full of toil and care, strife and
ambition. Old age should be as the autumn with its golden fruit. We ought to
be better Christians than ever we have been before; more submissive to God's
will; more content, more patient and gentle, kindlier and more loving—when
we grow old. We are drawing nearer to heaven every day—and our visions of
the Father's house should be clearer and brighter. Old age is the time of
harvest; it should not be marked by emptiness and decay—but by richer
fruitfulness and more gracious beauty. It may be lonely, with so many gone
of those who used to cluster about the life—but the loneliness will not be
for long, for it is drawing nearer continually to all the great company of
godly friends, waiting in heaven.

Old age may be feeble—but the marks of feebleness are
really foretokens of glory. Old people have no reason for sadness—they are
really in their best days! Let them be sure to live now at their
best. Paul was growing old when he wrote of his enthusiastic vision of
beauty yet to be attained—but we hear no note of depression or weariness in
him. He did not think of his life as done. He showed no consciousness that
he had passed the highest reach of living. He was still forgetting the past
and reaching forth, because he knew that the best was yet before him. His
outward man was feeble, his health shattered, his physical vigor
decaying—but the inner man was undecayed and undecaying. He was never before
so Christ-like as he was now, never so full of hope, never so enthusiastic
in his service of his Master.

Those who are growing old should show the ripest
spiritual fruitfulness. They should do their best work for Christ in the
days which remain. They should live their sweetest, gentlest, kindliest,
most helpful life in the short time which they have yet to remain in this
world. They should make their years of old age—years of quietness and peace,
and joy—a holy eventide. But this can be the story of their experiences only
if their life be hid with Christ in God. Apart from Christ, no life can keep
its zest or its radiance!